A/N: I do not own FlashPoint or its characters. I just have fun tormenting them and putting them in different situations. In this case, Jules. The chapters will be short pieces, cut for the best cliffhangers.
For the first time in weeks, I had a day off that coincide with a business day. That it wasn't a bank holiday made it even better, I only had three checks left in my position and hated ordering them online. Banking online was also something that I tried to avoid, there were more records when I wrote the checks. I could get normal tasks done, and forget for a while what I dealt with every other day of the week.
It was a beautiful morning in late spring. The weather was warm for Toronto. Usually there was a cold snap this time of year. But I was taking full advantage of the early shoulder weather and to soak up as much of the sun as I could. When out on calls with the team, I was always fully covered up, and I spent so much of the rest of my life training inside, or training in the body armour that the last time I had seen my family, they had been worried about anemia.
Even though Toronto didn't get as cold in the winter as did the more northern territories, I still welcomed the coming of spring and packing away my bulky turtlenecks. Spring was the best season, in my opinion. Not too hot to make the body armour uncomfortable for prolonged periods lying on a roof somewhere, and no longer needing the thick coats and sweaters was wonderful.
The bank was only a four block walk away from my condo, and I thought nothing of walking. It gave me more time to relax in the sun, and I got fresh air, and more of the alone time I sometimes coveted. It would of course be more helpful if there were girls that I could connect with, I spent way to much time with men for my liking.
I didn't expect on being gone that long – thirty or forty minutes at most so I left my gun locked up in my condo. All I needed for the bank run was my badge, keys, and cell phone. Even though I would leave my gun behind sometimes, I never was far from my phone. If Serg called me into a delicate situation, I would need it. It would be a short run back to my apartment to grab my gun and trunk so I could get to the spot, if they brought my suit for me. That had happened once or twice before, though I always gave Serg grief for calling me in on my day off.
I slipped into line at the bank. For nearly midday on a Monday, it was fairly empty. Only two tellers stood behind the polished wood counter. But that was something that I liked about the bank, it's personal touches and the fact that the restrooms were open for bank members to use if needed. I had only been to them once, when it was really crowded. My eyes floated over the lobby, taking in each person waiting to complete their business before heading to lunch, or going back to their shopping. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, except for some man wearing a black trenchcoat. It had been chillier in the morning, so maybe he didn't plan ahead.
Then again, it was Toronto, and could start raining at the drop of a hat this time of the year. I moved my eyes back to the counter, and stepped forward, reaching for my identification.
Three shots rang out behind me, followed instantly by screams. I refused to even try to understand why shots fired was instant reason to scream.
I dropped to the ground and reached automatically for the gun that I didn't have. Of course, it just happened that the one time that I went out without my gun was the time that I actually needed it. Sighing in frustration, I surveyed the room. The man in the trench coat I had noticed had a gun over his head, shouting at everyone to get onto the ground. While he was distracted, I eased my phone out of my pocket to text Winnie.
At bank on SE corner of 5th Ave and Walnut. One gunman, 7 hostages. Shots fired. Send the team, but please don't let them know I'm a hostage.
A moment later, a text came back. Sending them. Demands?
None yet, but I suspect money. I slid my phone into my pocket, pressing the button on the side to lock the screen.
The gunman stormed towards me. "What are you doing?" He shoved the gun in my face. "Who're you calling?"
"No one!" I faked a squeak, and forced myself to make my voice shake. "I was just checking the time. I have a lunch date."
"Give me all your cell phones!" He screamed, the gun still pointed at me. "Throw them on the ground. You, behind there, get out here!" The gun swung away from me, and towards the tellers.
A/N 2: Shoulder season is a term that my friend from Toronto taught me. It's that time of year when you no longer need the thick coats and sweaters, and can maybe risk wear lighter weight clothing. Hopefully that clears up questions if Jules didn't explain it well enough.